The large oval windows, dotted across the room, were open, their burgundy curtains swaying ominously, propelled by the midnight breeze. Through the open window soft moonlight bathed the antique library, tinted by the colors of the stained glass on the windows, the colored light illuminating the cherry oak bookshelves and the leather bound spines of the books they housed.
In a lavishly embroider chair next to the fireplace, bathed in the soft orange light of the dying embers sat a figure draped in androgyny, legs leisurely spread, relaxed but powerful, it’s head bowed as if in a trance.
“What do you want?” I asked. I had the feeling I’d been summoned to this place.
In response the embers in the fireplace flared to life throwing the person’s face into sharp relief.
“Titanic!” I gasped. Rushing forward, and kneeling in front of her, I tried to lift her head but it lolled back into a dead position.
“Titanic.” I whispered desperately.
Her eyelids shot open, but they did not reveal her eyes, but instead opened into infinite darkness; she was possessed!
Her hand shot to my face capturing my head in between her hands, her palms pressing hard into my cheeks and her fingers digging into my scalp.
“Let go!” I gasped, trying to scramble to my feet but she held me in place.
She brought her face so close to mine I could smell the sulfur on her breath. At least she was still breathing
“Where are the names?” She demanded in a horse whisper. “The names of the witnesses.” I remember when I'd first met Titanic I'd compared her gravelly voice to the that of a demon, I hadn't been that far off.
I shook my head in silent protest.
Titanic growled disapprovingly.
“Courage is dead! it is folly to oppose me!” She warned.
“I don’t believe in death.” I replied quickly.
She smiled at me, a most mocking smile.
“Well allow me to prove you wrong.”
Her hands slide down to my throat and began to tighten.
I curled my hands in to fists and slammed her on either side of the head.
“Aaahh!” she cried releasing me and raising her hands to her temples, where I’d struck her.
I scrambled across the floor quickly.
Titanic rose to her feet.
“Give me those names!” she demanded. “Or become like her.” She cried point a finger to herself.
What was that supposed to mean? What was Titanic like now? I shuddered at the answers which came to mind.
Titanic took in a long breath before exhaling a large trail of black smoke. Once the Smoke had left her she collapsed to the floor, limp as death.
The sight stole my breath away.
The smoke circled towards me.
“The Names.” It shrieked, with a voice like grinding knives. It took a dive towards me.
I woke to excoriating pain.
My back was stiff; my arms were sore, my legs felt dead and my whole body was covered in cold sweat and to a lesser degree dry blood.
I blinked my eyes several times trying to free my eyes from the presence of the dream but the image of Titanic lifeless, heaped on the floor burned it’s self into my vision.
I pulled myself into an awkward sitting position to survey my surrounds. I was sitting on a coach, in the darkness of a log cabin, wrapped in a woolly blanket, the only shapes I could make out were the square windows highlighted by the moon. I didn’t need to the dry trees scratching against the window like the fingers of All Hallows eve to know I was not in my New York Apartment. The Nightmare was a sign of that. Where ever I traveled I carried a Dream catcher with me and hung it over my bed to keep such mind invading creatures, as Night-Mares at bay. My Dream catcher was presently hanging over the bed in my apartment which led me to the conclusion that I had not brought myself here.